Пост Мортем - Nidus Penes Morbus - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

I remember how my father and I traveled and there was not a single person whom he would not know. He said, told stories, always gave advice, but I do not remember that at least once we and we talk to the present. A few years ago I came to his hospital, he was very, very bad. He did not even immediately understand that I was sitting nearby ...

The sounds of the hospital, the triumph of iron with concrete

The wards are empty and from the walls the spirit of sentences

Broken dreams, tears, losses of loved ones

Threats of fire, prayers, patients from patients

Stairs rubbed into the ovals of the foot

Echoes of groans, forgotten shadows

It seems to be empty here, but the blocks live in the past

What is it and not to call the good

Loof gazebos, a couple of tired shops

Here leisure on the day of the card, if you are on your feet

People rarely visit, more often there are no them at all

Only a car from the morgue permanent guest

A handful of still live eyes without color

No one knows if he will live before dawn

There is no ticket back, only foggy tomorrow

And think about life, about an unsuccessful start

Too late to make plans for tomorrow

Too late to drive loved ones in theaters

Too late to run from the inevitable

The other bunks are the same, the same beds ...

Too late to make plans for tomorrow

Too late to drive loved ones in theaters

Too late to run from the inevitable

The other bunks are the same, the same beds ...

Then he began to cry ... And through tears he looked at me and said ... "Talk a somnary" ...

The diagnosis was cruel, and the doctor is honest

Treatment is long, and the outcome in the end is known

(.......) Lonely day, in the beginning there was a word and it was wretched

Not bored, there are dozens in robes

Severe patients with a dropper in the wards

One seemed to run into the case for five minutes

Now they are not waiting for her back, because one breast

Here they cut on a living, irradiated, stuffed pills

Trying to cure these sick cells

As a Russian roulette, you will stay, or to the grave

You hang in, bring an infection, or sterility

Someone seemed to finally smile during the day

And at night the orderlies carried it under the sheet

This is how they live looking at a number of cheap reproductions

The bodies are changing to them, but the beds remain

Too late to make plans for tomorrow

Too late to drive loved ones in theaters

Too late to run from the inevitable

The other bunks are the same, the same beds ...

Too late to make plans for tomorrow

Too late to drive loved ones in theaters

Too late to run from the inevitable

The other bunks are the same, the same beds ...

I did not know where to start, I did not know at all ... but as soon as I started talking,

He closed his eyes and died ... Even without hearing a word ... That's it ... Son's bitch.